If I do obey him, I am dead.
Deciding then, Shun Li leaned toward the driver, “Stop the car,” she said.
The East Lighting operative put his foot on the brakes and began to pull over to the side. They were already off the bridge.
“No!” Shun Li said. “Stop in the middle of the road.”
Someone else might have asked why, but not her East Lightning driver. He knew how to obey.
They stopped. Soon, from outside, Shun Li heard air brakes hiss as the haulers came to a fast halt behind her.
Her heart hammered in her chest as she stepped outside. The spires of Harbin glistened in the distance. She could not return there with these. She must defy Hong and survive.
What can I possibly say to him?
Her enforcers hurried to her. “Listen to me,” Shun Li told them. “I have reason to believe the Americans know about our convoy. We must turn around and head to the Lao military base. From there, I will request further instructions from Chairman Hong.”
She waited for one of them to question her orders. None of them did. She marched toward the big haulers. At each one, the driver opened his or her door. She gave each one the same orders.
Soon, the convoy had turned around, the nuclear warheads headed away from Harbin and toward the military base.
I am dead, Shun Li told herself. It is over for me. Should I kill myself? No. I will wait to see what karma has in store.
Failing to put the barrel of her gun to her head and pulling the trigger was, perhaps, the most courageous decision she had ever made. She dearly hoped she didn’t have painful reasons to regret it.
G1011 EXPRESSWAY, HEILONGJIANG PROVINCE
Stan rode in his observation helo as the 10th Armored Division headed almost due west along the G1011 Expressway. They had passed Xiangyangxiang and thundered toward Harbin several miles distant. The 10th and V Corps with it were south of the Songhua River, which divided Harbin in two.
Because he was high enough, Stan could see the entire 10th AD, and it was a sight. Three large wedges of massed vehicles moved east to west, throwing up great clouds of dust. The top wedge was 1st Brigade, with three armored and one infantry battalions. 3rd Brigade held the center, with one armored, one armored cavalry and two infantry battalions. At the bottom roared 2nd Brigade, with two armored and one infantry battalions. Divisional artillery followed.
A screen of Chinese infantry attempted to halt them with desultory mortar fire and a thin line of dug-in soldiers. The 10th annihilated them in a classic overrun. None of the brigades deployed, but roared through the shocked Chinese, leaving smoking corpses and crushed mortar tubes behind.
The rest of First Army followed V Corps. At the same time, US Ninth Army came at Harbin from the west while Eighteenth Army stuck from the north.
Stan had his orders from General Taylor. He executed them to perfection. The G1011 circled Harbin in a giant expressway. As his lead elements reached the great loop, they turned sharp south, following the highway. The expressway loop was the marker, the limit First Army would go and no farther, which included 10th Armored Division.
No doubt, confused Chinese observers watched from within Harbin, wondering why the Americans didn’t begin entering the city.
In an hour, 3rd Brigade reached Chengggaozizhen, and stopped. The Chinese tank traps lay west of the G1011 Expressway Loop. Maybe the Chinese would think the traps had foiled the Americans. As Stan took up position, other divisions of V Corps deployed north of his location behind the highway.
We’re showing the Chinese they’re surrounded. Now, will they take the bait?
It would depend on several imponderables. Stan imagined that US High Command was counting on the Chinese desire to save an entire army from annihilation.
A half hour passed. Stan landed, walked around, took a piss and saw one of his aides sprinting to him.
“General, General Higgins!”
Stan already knew what the boy was going to say. In a way, it surprised him. The Chinese knew Mongol history, or they should. Maybe this generation of Chinese was too proud to study barbarian tactics.
Old Genghis Khan had a famous trick. That was to surround an enemy and attack hard from all sides. Then, almost as if in oversight, a lane magically opened in the rear. A chance at life beckoned the defenders. And in more than one battle, Genghis Khan’s foes took the bait, trying to race through the opening and escaping to live another day.
It was easier to kill a fleeing enemy than to fight him face to face. That had been as true with swords and arrows as with machine guns and tanks.
“General Taylor is calling, sir,” the aide said.
Stan ran to the observation helicopter. He put on headphones and grabbed a microphone.
“Higgins?” Taylor asked.
“Yes sir,” Stan said.
“III Corps of Eighteenth Army has entered Harbin,” Taylor said. “They’re meeting almost no resistance.”
“We used a massed frontal attack?”
“I just told you that, General. Yes.”
“I see, sir,” Stan said.
“Do you remember watching videos of the 2001 Desert Storm “Highway of Death” between Kuwait and Iraq?”
“I believe I do,” Stan said.
“Well, major Chinese elements are already fleeing Harbin, heading due south on the G1 Expressway. It looks like the big plan is going to work. I still think your trick on the Songhua River has them freaked out.”
“I’m glad to hear it, sir.”
“Don’t be modest, Higgins. It was a great plan and you pulled it off. Now we’re seeing yet another dividend from it. I want your Cherokees in on the kill.”
“Immediately sir?” Stan asked.
“No. Let’s wait another half hour. We want them all on the road. High Command has decided to let the first enemy elements to break through unscathed.”
“That’s playing dirty, sir.”
“It sure is,” Taylor said. “And you know what?”
“What’s that, sir?”
“It feels great!”
Stan grinned. It did at that. The US 3rd Army Group just might pull a Genghis Khan trick on the Chinese. These were secondary troops in Harbin and panic seemed to have set in. Now, it was time to kill the enemy.
G1 EXPRESSWAY, HEILONGJIANG PROVINCE
Jake, Chet and Grant walked on the side of the expressway with the rest of the platoon, two days after the massacre.
Harbin rose to the north, a US-captured city, the first provincial capital to fall to the Allies.
Thousands of twisted, wrecked tanks, BMPs, BTRs, trucks, jeeps and SUVs lay where they died, together with tens of thousands of rotting corpses. The stink was unbelievable.
“Somebody ought to clean up the mess,” Chet said.
“Didn’t you hear?” Jake said. “The Eighteenth is gathering Chinese prisoners for the duty.”
“How long until they bury the bodies?” asked Chet.
Jake shrugged. He had no idea. This section of the expressway was the worst. He’d never seen anything like it. In places, trucks, tanks and BMPs had gone off-road. It hadn’t helped them escape from the vengeful Cherokees and the V-10 drones that couldn’t comprehend mercy.
It was simple really. The more Chinese soldiers and vehicles the US and Russians butchered, the less there was to kill the good guys.
US missiles, rockets and chain guns had reaped a harvest by division, by brigade, by battalion and platoon. Miles of this littered the route. It had to be over forty thousand corpses, maybe more.
“The Chinese should have held their ground,” Chet said.
“We would have still beaten them,” Jake said.
“I know, but they would have done better against us that way than dying like fools.”
“Thank God they didn’t stand.”
“For sure,” Chet said. “I’m just saying.”
Grant swore, and head swiveled fast. “What was that?”
Jake had heard it too. In
the heat of the sun, many of the bodies had already decomposed a lot. Interior gas had ballooned stomachs until they distended. Now, some of them made horrid gurgling sounds.
“That’s worse than your farts, Grant,” Chet said.
Grant gave Chet the finger.
After that, the three of them hurried. So did everyone else who came to this heap of dead.
Two hours later, they left the road. Battalion headed toward the Xinglong Reservoir.
They bedded down in the open under the stars that night. It was a quiet and peaceful. Suddenly, from the direction of the reservoir, a titanic explosion lit the darkness. Soon, a hot blast-furnace wind blew over them.
“Bet we don’t find any generators working there,” Chet said.
The next day proved him right. East Lighting had breached the dam for a distance of one hundred yards.
Jake learned that eight turbo-generators here had a total output of half a million kilowatts. The Chinese secret police had burned them out yesterday by deliberately letting them run at full throttle for too long.
Jake stared at the one hundred yard gap in the dam.
“What are you thinking?” Chet asked.
“Would you blow up a dam and wreck the generators like that if you thought you were going to beat back the invaders any time soon?”
“No,” Chet said.
“This tells us something.”
“What?”
Jake grinned. “The Chinese must not be feeling real confident right now.”
“They shouldn’t. Not after what I saw on the expressway.”
Jake nodded, and he turned away. “Come on, we’re heading out. The lieutenant says we’re getting a ride again. The Army is going to need us soon in Jilin Province.”
“Tally-ho,” Chet said, in a mock British accent he’d been practicing.
The two young soldiers shouldered their packs and headed for the assembly area.
-12-
Drive on Changchun
MARINE TRAINING BASE, MONTANA
In the end, Paul Kavanagh decided he’d have to make a little excursion in his powered armor. The security here was intense, and they were a long way from anywhere out here in the sticks.
At chow that night, Paul ate his meatloaf in silence, with Romo on his right and Sergeant Dan French on his left. Dan was a SEAL. Correction: had been one. Like the rest of them, he was a Marine now—a drop specialist—and part of their squad. Dan kept picking up and twisting the peppershaker, putting more on his meatloaf.
The cafeteria seated a quarter of them at a time. They’d been making drops from lumbering transports, wearing an approximation of their gear. Another few weeks and they’d been ready for whatever plan the brass hats had thought up.
As Romo made to get up with his empty tray, Paul cleared his throat. Romo didn’t glance at him. The assassin simply sat back down, pushing his tray toward the middle of the table. No one ate faster than Romo did, but he hated having plates near after he had finished. It wasn’t the strangest of quirks among men who had seen a lot of combat.
Sergeant Dan looked up, and then he cut into his meatloaf, forking himself more. Soon enough, he muttered something, took his empty tray, and headed for the exit.
“I’m sick of this stuff,” Paul said.
With an easy twist of his head, Romo glanced at him. The dark eyes betrayed nothing, but they had been with each other for several years already. They’d gotten patterns down pat. Paul felt the assassin’s unspoken question.
“There are no girls here,” Romo finally said. “That is a mistake, as we’re warriors.”
“Soldiers,” Paul said. “We’re soldiers.”
“No. We act like soldiers. I concede that much, but no more. We fight. We’re killers, you more than anyone else.”
“I’ve heard it said, but I have my doubts about that.”
“I have no doubts,” Romo said. “And I see others realizing the same truth. The general, he knows I’m right. That is why he tolerates your lack of respect. You have asked too many questions too many times. You do not obey when they most want you to submit.”
“It’s a character flaw, I suppose.”
“I agree—it is a gigantic flaw. Colonel Valdez could smell men like you. You made the colonel faint, your odor of rebelliousness was so powerful.”
Paul remembered Valdez all too well from Denver in ’39. The Mexican colonel had wanted him dead. He recalled their meetings. None of them had gone well.
“I don’t think that bastard ever fainted in his life,” Paul said.
“Colonel Valdez will rule Mexico someday. You watch.”
That was something that had surprised Paul, how Valdez had actually convinced the other Mexican generals to revolt against the Chinese. It turned out America had been right to coddle the psychopathic Napoleonic wannabe. Imagine that.
Pinching the end of his spoon with his thumb and forefinger, Paul lifted the scoop and tapped it against his tray. “I’m taking a little ride tomorrow,” he said casually.
Romo just stared at him.
“I’ve been through Montana a time or two before this. Did some hunting in these parts. There’s a town…oh, I’d say about forty miles from here.”
“Our training range is huge, vast. The general does not want anyone to know about us.” Romo shook his head. “Security might have moved the townspeople somewhere else.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Do you know this to be true?”
“No.”
“Then you should not risk angering the general.”
Dropping the spoon, Paul leaned forward. “Cheri’s lonely. I feel it.” He tapped his heart. “The general isn’t being reasonable—”
“Amigo, the Marines with the Orion ships are the great secret weapons. The general, the country, cannot take chances of having the enemy discovering them.”
“No,” Paul said. “At this point, it doesn’t matter.”
“I know, my friend. You should have stayed in the Recon Marines. They allowed you to do things your own way while out in the field, where you lived like a hermit most of the time. This is too tight an organization for someone like you. As I said, we are warriors. You are a warrior who pretends to be a soldier. Warriors must have women or they become angry. I’m very angry. So I will join you tomorrow evening.”
“We’re indispensable,” Paul said. “Even two weeks ago, and I’d say they’d try to replace us. But not now that our suits work so well and they’re teaching us to use the flyers.”
“We are the best, si.”
“Our guys won’t shoot us down, even though I spotted antimissile batteries a week ago.”
“Where?” asked Romo. “I have not seen these.”
“Do you remember when the general ordered me to turn back? What was it, five days ago?”
“Yes. You jumped several miles in the wrong direction. I remember quite well. You said you’d gotten lost, and I couldn’t believe the general accepted your lie.”
“You’re right, I did it on purpose. I wanted to get a look, to see if they had any perimeter defenses. Our HUD sensors are good, better than I expected, and I picked up high-energy readings. Comparing it to Chinese weaponry specs we have in our files, I’d say those were tac-lasers.”
“You are always thinking, amigo. I applaud you.”
“Even if there aren’t any girls in the town for you to—”
“Hey,” Romo said.
Paul stopped talking.
“I am your blood-brother. I will join you, but do not ask anyone else. They are good men, and some of them are warriors, too, but they like to obey the general too much. They would turn you in.”
“Yeah,” Paul said. “I know.”
“I will go.”
“Got it.”
For several seconds, they sat in silence. Finally, Romo said, “Yes.”
Paul raised an eyebrow. “Yes, what?” he asked
“You are welcome.”
A rare grin touched
Paul’s lips. “Thanks—amigo.”
“De nada.”
***
Stars blazed overhead as Paul strode in his battlesuit toward the squad’s lifter. Every step left crushed grass and a deep imprint in the soil.
A mile away began a large pine forest. The squad practiced tonight in a glade near a small lake. Behind him, Romo followed in his powered armor.
The squad practiced night maneuvers, using sensors to guide them through the dark. The only active weapons system was the fifty-caliber rifle. It was part of his right arm. He aimed it and a targeting computer showed him a dot on his HUD where he’d hit. He could subvocalize, “Fire,” and it would shoot, or he could press a forefinger pad in his glove if he’d activated it for that.
“Sergeant Kavanagh, you are out of position.” The words crackled in the headphones that were part of the inner helmet.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Paul muttered under his breath.
“My diagnostic is showing me that your comm-equipment is in working order. What’s wrong, Sergeant?”
The trick for this little stunt had been finding and deactivating the kill-switch in his battlesuit, the one that would let the monitor shut him down. He’d known there would be one, which was why he’d kept searching after a sane man would have quit. At the back of his inner helmet was a fingernail-thin shutdown unit with a little green wire in it—now a cut green wire.
“Ready?” Paul asked.
“Si,” Romo said.
“What are you doing, Sergeant Kavanagh?” the monitor asked.
Paul climbed aboard the open lifter. It had a guardrail around it and an upright control panel in the center. One problem with dropping Marines in the middle of the enemy was extraction after completing the mission. Even if they could maintain the Orion ships in orbit, they didn’t have boosters that could descend, land and climb back out of the gravity well with the Marines again. Whatever the mission ended up being, it would probably be more like Doolittle’s raid over Tokyo.
On 18 April 1942, Colonel Doolittle with sixteen Army B-25s took off from the carrier Hornet, even though couldn’t possibly land again on the carriers. They flew eight hundred miles to bomb the Japanese main island of Honshu, Tokyo and the Emperor’s Palace in particular. Afterward, the B-25s either crashed-landed at sea or barely made it to China. One plane touched down at Vladivostok, where the crew was interned for the duration of the war.
Invasion: China (Invasion America) (Volume 5) Page 33